


The Falcon's Affiliation

by uruvielnumenesse



Series: AC/MCU [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Mentions of Tony Stark, OC, mentions of Yinsen Ho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:20:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uruvielnumenesse/pseuds/uruvielnumenesse





	The Falcon's Affiliation

Sam’s enjoying the momentary peace of laying in a bed of his own when he gets a call. His flip phone is vibrating on his nightstand. With a pillow over his eyes-his circadian rhythm was messed up, ok?- he contemplates leaving it to ring.

The phone is still. 

Sam sighs and turns over to curl his bed. His muscles relax and his burning eyes close against his will. He doesn’t fight it.

RING RING RING

“God damn it.” Sam mutters to himself as he reaches for the phone. No caller ID. He answers anyways.

“The Eagle is high.” Sam sits ramrod straight. Any traces of sleep disappears at the code words. His eyes still burn though. 

“But the Falcon soars.” He says.

“What a stupid code, Sam.” A voice announces, making Sam grin.

He does get out of bed knowing that if she’s calling it could only mean one thing. His bag is already packed, considering he had just arrived last night. His wings are folded, and are stationed by the door in case of emergencies. 

“C’mon Becks, if it pissess off your geek then it’s the greatest god damn code in the world.” The muffled swearing of Shaun in the background brings some levity to what should be a terrible call.

“Fuck off, bird brain.” Is clear in his ears. Rebecca must have handed the phone off to the insufferable British brat.

The struggle to not roll his eyes is real. Instead of listening to Shaun insult him, Sam made better use of his time.

Grabbing an apple that wasn’t bruised or softened he stuffs it in his mouth while he is slipping on his sneakers and pulling a hoodie on and sunglasses. He sadly eyes the empty coffee machine and makes a note to stop by a Starbucks at some point today. His caffeine fix had to be placated soon. A quick check to make sure everything was off and locked up, and Sam was on his discreet way. Wings cleverly folded and disguised as a thick backpack and his hidden blade gauntlets covered by his hoodie.

“Sam? SAM? You twat, listen to me!” His lack of participation in the conversation is noted and the British brat is peeved.

Mounting his bike, Sam pauses long enough to dryly say, “Rebecca told me what that means. Not impressed, Shaun. Who's the mission anyways?”

With his helmet on, a small screen pops up and Shaun appears on screen hair askew and glasses glinting.

“Remember Tony Stark?”

“Billionaire playboy. Crazy internet sensation and weapon designer.” Sam ticks off his fingers. “The question is who doesn’t know him.” Seriously, Stark was like a household name in every home even in homes that were considered off grid.

His motorcycle rumbles underneath him, purring as he twists the handles. It’s kinda dumb to get attached to tech when he knows for a fact it’ll be repurposed in the Brotherhood when he deploys again. But he loves his bike.

“Apparently, he was found in Afghanistan. He was brought back to the states this morning.” Sam hears the click clack of Shaun typing and no doubt bringing more files to his screen. All the while pushing his glasses up.

He’s so predictable.

“Again, why does that matter to us? I mean he’s not affiliated to us or to the Order.” The streets are empty and dark. Making it easier to disappear into the night.

“One of ours was found dead at the kidnapping site.” Shaun’s voice was quiet.

Sam closes his eyes and frowns. A loss to their Brotherhood for certain. But if it was someone they knew then it’ll be a damn heartbreak.

“It was Yinsen Ho, a doctor working for the cell in Afghanistan.” It’s terrible the way Sam breathes out in relief. It wasn’t one of his.

But he did recognize the name. A face pops up in his head. The irritated glances he threw at William when he kept talking. The passive aggressive jabs he’d throw in. And the great bedside manner he had with Becks.

A loss for sure.

“I’m being sent as a clean up crew aren’t I?” Sam asks.

Half hearted glances on the road reveal nothing.

“And the award for stating the obvious goes to Samuel Wilson.” The sarcastic remark was quick. As if Shaun was waiting for the opportunity to use it.

It did take him a while to think of good quips, flaws of being British and all. So Sam is okay with it. 

“You know, Shaun every insult you sling at me is like an arrow to the heart.”

“I’ll get my quiver then, won’t I.” Fucking Brits.  
\---  
Sam gave his bike a mournful look as it is mounted by a helmeted Assassin. He doubts it’ll be home when he finishes the trip. Hopefully, Becks would be willing to steal-hm, acquire-one if it’s not returned.

Shaun would bitch about it but he’d be the first one to find a new model for Sam.

The trip to the disaster site was a quick and silent one. The new pilots had gone silent when he boarded the plane. Newbies in awe of actual Assassin work, which should have worried Sam. High profile missions like this needed experienced Assassin’s not some green recruit.  
But given Miles’ terrible need for control, Sam knows any bitching or complaining will get him stuck with the greens for the next few assignments. By the time he gets on the plane, the only thing he cares about was if they’d stand their ground when-not if, because he had the worst luck-, it all goes to shit.

“Who recruited you guys?” Sam had asked at one point. Idyl curiosity getting the better of him. 

The female pilot had been quick to answer. “Lt. Carol Danvers, sir. I was brought in when I noticed something strange going on at NASA.” 

Sam raised a brow. “No shit, NASA? Did we save your ass or did you save ours?”

Danvers smirked at him which basically told him what he needed to know.

The other one stayed silent but motioned his story.

\----

It’s damning that once Sam is dropped off in the designated safe zone to see the solemn faces of his brothers he notices their numbers have dwindled yet again.

Covered in colors that match the scorching desert, they receive him with little fanfare.

“Safety and peace, Sam.” An older, weary looking man opened his arms and beckoned him to follow.

Sam hitches his bag higher and follows the Mentor into the nondescript building. He nods at the others who watch them enter. Most conversations are loud enough that Sam is forced to wait until they are inside the Mentor’s office.

The Assassin's symbol is hung proudly from the beams in the ceiling. Mementos of legendary Assassins are everywhere.

A feather encased in glass, a dull red. The placard under it states it was a feather marker from the Leventhian Brotherhood. Once a mission was completed the feather was bloodied by the Assassin who killed the target. A practice that ended under the Mentor Altair Ibn-La’Ahad.

Petrified smoke bombs and cherry bombs made during the height of the Constantinople Brotherhood. 

The broken Hidden blades of the Italian Mentor Ezio Auditore de Firenze.

The ripped black flag of the pirate Assassin.

The Tomahawk from the American Mentor Connor Kenway.

There are other mementos that litter the Mentor’s office but his attention is drawn to the photos scattered on the desk. Glossy, high resolution images that only a drone could get. 

“Where did you get this?” Sam carefully flips through the images.

Holy shit.

The only things that stick out amidst all the sand and the blood is the metal and dead bodies. Yinsen is no where found. 

Is that Stark?

What the hell?

“What exactly am I looking at here, Nadir?” Sam tears his eyes away from violence of it all to look at the Mentor.

The frown lines on the Mentor’s face deepen.

“These are surveillance photos of the massacre of a Ten Rings cell. Aside from Mr. Stark, there were no survivors.” 

Sam winces internally as he realizes that Yinsen Ho belonged to Nadir’s section of the Brotherhood.

“Listen, from what I knew of him, Yinsen was a go-” Sam was interrupted. 

Nadir sighes. “Yinsen saved more lives than he took. I am saddened by his death but the man never did anything without a thought.” Nadir’s eyes glisten a bit. “Except when it came to his wife. Then he was a fool.”

Sam nods unable to add anything else about a man he did not know. His stance is rigid as Nadir walks to his desk and gestures for Sam to sit.

Only when the American is somewhat settled on the worn wooden chair does the Mentor speak.

“The Ten Rings has always been an enemy to my people. They recruit and indoctrinate the young men to violence and terror. For the last decade they have been fought by the Assassins located here.” A ripped and bloodied poster for the Ten Rings is placed on top of the other piles. Photos of sneering men and weapons.

He could almost hear the screams.

Sam leans forward, his gaze sharp.

“You think they took Yinsen because he was an Assassin instead of taking him for doctor stuff.” More to himself, Sam says, “But how would they know?”

“Perhaps it was coincidence, perhaps not. However they came about him, I cannot risk the lives of the Assassins in this bureau. We are shifting to another base of command.”

“So why exactly am I here?” Sam asks. As much as he liked Nadir, the Mentor had shared a few missions before, guard duty wasn’t exactly fun.

“You need to investigate the Ten Rings organization. Starting with-”

“Tony Stark.” 

Sam was trading one sandy land for another.


End file.
